


A Bushy Tale

by vanishing_time



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Foxes, Gen, Joe is an actual fox in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_time/pseuds/vanishing_time
Summary: John makes friends with an urban fox he finds in his rubbish.Pun intended.
Relationships: John Deacon & Joe Mazzello
Comments: 22
Kudos: 19





	A Bushy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little fluff.

It’s another beautiful day - by English standards at least, and John is merrily whistling as he takes out his rubbish to the bin in front of his house, humming and smoking a cigarette.

He comes to a halt when he sees a bushy red tail hanging out of the bin, happily wagging around, accompanied by satisfied grunting and munching sounds, the rubbish scattered all over the ground around.

John has a visitor.

He’s gotten used to the foxes that are roaming his neighborhood - after all, he lives in an almost rural area where urbanized foxes are becoming more frequent, and the noises and squeals they sometimes make, especially in mating season, are very familiar and very annoying.

He grabs the fox by the tail and pulls it out, and the fox starts screaming, wiggling in his hand as John lifts it and holds it out with a stretched arm, the leftover chicken parts falling to the ground from the fox’s mouth among the complaining squeals.

John puts the animal down, and it runs away to the corner where it stops and looks back at him, looking very grumpy that John has interrupted its lunch.

“Stop eating my rubbish!” John tells it as he stumps his cigarette, and the fox barks back. “And don’t be so angry! You’re making a mess and you bring your rabies here!”

The fox opens its mouth wide and hisses at him from a safe distance, as if it was feeling aggrieved by the accusation. John shakes his head. If he remembers correctly, foxes around here don’t have rabies because the government puts medicine out there into scattered pieces of food, but better be safe than sorry.

He shushes the fox away before going into the house for a broom, but when he comes back, the fox is already sniffing the leftover chicken bones, but it scurries away as it sees the broom, once again glancing back from the corner.

John observes the fox. He certainly doesn't want it to get used to him and always come to his house for food, but this little fellow looks a bit skinny, and it has such cute little intelligent eyes that he goes soft.

“All right, wait here a bit,” John says, going back to the kitchen for some raw chicken breast.

The fox looks at him suspiciously when John returns and waves the chicken towards him, not daring to come closer but its nose twitching excitedly. Of course, John has shooed him away at first, so it seems a bit cautious, but then John puts the chicken down and steps back a few steps, and the fox comes closer, its whiskers trembling before it gulps up the meat, and John notices a little spot on its right cheek, just under its eye.

"Yes, that’s it,” John says, smiling at the little fox that yips at him before running away.

The next day John sees the fox sneaking around in his garden, and John narrows his eyes to check whether it’s the same fox as the previous day. It has a very sharp nose and there’s the little dot on its right cheek. That was not dirt but a pattern in its fur.

“You’re hungry again? Came to brush through my rubbish again?” He murmurs to himself, but gets some chicken again, putting it into a bowl and taking it outside, and the fox jumps into the air. 

They quickly form a friendship - it's a bit one-sided and based on food, but to his surprise, John finds it very entertaining. But to make sure, he made a phone call, getting reassured that the foxes around don't carry rabies, though they told him to be careful because they can carry other parasites.

Days pass, and the fox always shows up, usually in the early mornings and late afternoons, but John refuses to feed it more than once a day -- Veronica is already angry with him for making the fox used to him, so he has to sneak to the farther side of the garden and leave the food there. It’s always gone by the end of the day, and John sometimes sees the bushy red tail and hears the faint nomming sounds in the distance.

One morning the fox is already waiting for him before he gets there, and John can swear it is smiling at him, with mouth wide open, tongue hanging out and eyes squinting, and it gently wags its tail like a dog, making John chuckle.

"Are you happy to see me?” he asks, and the fox yips once. “Or are you happy to smell the food?”

The fox jumps and looks at him excitedly. 

“You must be hungry,” John says, glancing behind himself to make sure his wife is not around. He puts the bowl down and the fox digs its face into the food, munching loudly, finishing the lunch in a few seconds and sitting down, looking at him expectantly, grinning.

“That’s all for today, little one,” John says, trying to pet the fox but it shies away, sitting down just out of his reach and panting, and John just holds out his hand, letting the fox carefully sniff it. “It's okay, you're in charge of this interaction. But you’re going to be a round fox if I give you more. Go and hunt for yourself!”

Not that there’s too much to hunt around beside his neighbours’ rubbish, and John’s a little sad, thinking that the fox probably would have a better life in a deep forest.

To his surprise, the fox then pokes its nose into his hand, wagging its tail and yipping, and then it turns and runs away, going about its daily business.

The fox visits him every morning and it’s become their ritual to wait for each other. Usually, the fox is there in the wake of dawn, and it slowly learns to accept the food directly from John's hand. It's always smiling and getting more and more yippy, apparently happy to see John, and not just his food.

John reaches his hand out one day. He’s been trying to pet its head (he wonders if it’s a good idea, but the fox doesn't seem to be sick, and John’s skin is intact and he always washes his hands anyway), but so far the fox has always jumped away from him. But this time it stays still and only twitches a little, ears pulled back a little when John gently puts his hand on its head and slowly pets.

“See, I'm not hurting you,” he murmurs to the fox that lets him pet it calmly, even closing its eyes for a few seconds and lifting the tip of its tail. “Oh, you like it, I see. You have pretty, soft fur, little one.”

The fox is obviously not used to human touch, but it seems to enjoy the petting. But then it has enough and it pokes John’s hand with his nose, letting out a sound that reminds John of giggling, and he chuckles too, and they laugh at each other for a while.

“I should give you a name,” John says. “What should I name you? Should I give you a silly name? Frankie? Biscuit? Scout?”

The fox looks at him, turning its head sideways like a dog, looking at him curiously and rotating its ears.

“What about a human name? Those are funnier. Jasper? Jake? Joe?”

The fox barks, apparently finding the sound funny. 

“Joe? You think you are a Joe?”

“Yip! Yip!”

The fox jumps around him, looking at him like it was grinning, tongue hanging out.

“Are you even a boy?” John asks, chuckling at how cute Joe is.

Then the fox rolls around a few times, galloping to a column of the fence and lifting a leg to pee on it, and the smell smacks John in the face.

“Okay, I see that you’re a boy, marking your territory, eh?” he asks, shaking his head and grimacing, and the fox grins at him with an open mouth. “I bet this is not the first time. That’s why my flowers are drying out at that spot. I guess I’m lucky you’re not pooping here!”

Joe giggles before running away, and John thinks that this is a new milestone in their relationship.

“What are you saying? What are you saying?”

“Kekekekeke!”

John is scratching Joe’s fur between his ears, and the fox closes his eyes and enjoys it, panting and wagging his tail, making happy whimpering fox noises.

“Are you a happy boy today?” John asks, and Joe rolls onto his back, poking his nose into his hand, chewing on it and fox-laughing.

John rubs the fluffy tummy and Joe tries to chew on his arm playfully, wagging his bushy tail, and John rubs the soft wiggling little animal.

“Kekekekeke,” laughs the fox, nomming John’s hand and licking his palm, like whenever he wants snacks.

Joe likes to follow John around in the garden, begging for food, and John has learned to differentiate between his welcoming or begging voices, not unlike the parent of a baby who cries differently depending on what it needs.

“You're a wild little forest puppy, aren't you,” John says, and the fox giggles, sniffing at John's pocket where he usually keeps some dog treats for him.

“I don't have any treats with me, you ate it all,” John says, but Joe sniffs, and before John can react, he quickly yanks his phone out of his pocket and runs away with it.

“No!” John doesn't know whether to laugh or get mad, running after the fox who gallops around in his garden, clearly happy with his prey, and Joe is chirping, John can swear he’s laughing at him.

"I'm too old for this,” John thinks to himself when the fox finally drops the phone a few hundred yards farther, wagging his tail and looking very proud of himself.

John grabs the phone, wiping it with his handkerchief.

"You drooled all over it!"

Joe yips and smiles at him, twisting himself into a pretzel in the grass, watching John struggling for breath from the chasing.

John sits on the grass next to the fox, panting, and wiping his sweaty forehead, and Joe pokes his nose under his arm.

“Ah, you’re cuddly now?” John asks, petting the thick fur, drying his phone and taking a picture of the fox, and when Joe rubs his head against his armpit, he takes a selfie with him. His grandkids will go crazy for a selfie with a fox... “You stink, you could use a bath!”

Joe is posing for the camera, being his cute self, and John wonders how did his little fox become his friend.

Joe turns his head to the side, observing the phone.

“Yes, it’s a camera, now be a good boy and smile!"

"Nyeh! Nyeh! Nyeh!”

“If you say so,” John grins, grabbing Joe’s mouth and nose and shaking his head, and Joe yips. “The camera loves you!”

Joe throws himself onto his back and relaxes between John’s legs, poking the phone with his nose before quickly falling into a nap. He's squeaking quietly in his sleep, and John gently plays with the soft fur and bushy tail.

Joe wiggles his paws in his sleep, and John presses on Joe's toe beans, rubbing them.

"Nyeee," chirps the fox, opening one eye and rolling into a croissant.

But then John has to leave because his grandkids are coming to a visit, and he pats Joe's head.

"I've got to go, and you better leave too before Ronnie finds you here!"

"Yip?" Joe asks, turning his head aside sleepily.

"Yip to you too!" 

"Yip!"

John pats him between his ears and leaves, and Joe looks after him as he jumps, quietly running away when he hears the sound of the opening gate.

The next day John wakes up to Joe scratching on his back door. He glances at Ronnie who's grimacing in her sleep at the sound, and John slips out of bed to open the door, knowing well what to expect.

He finds Joe there with the food bowl in his mouth, begging for a breakfast, and John doesn't know whether to laugh or be in a fret.

"You had enough to eat already in the past few days," he says in a low voice, "you're gonna get fat!"

Joe is staring at him with big bright eyes, and John can swear his mouth is curling into a grin behind those thick whiskers. He glances behind the fox, his trash all scattered.

"You went through my rubbish again?" John can't believe his eyes. Does Joe's appetite never get satisfied? "You stop that!"

He wonders if it's a sign of madness that he talks to the fox as if it understood him, but Joe seems very smart indeed, following John into the garden, putting down the bowl next to his foot and sniffing John's hand, jumping into the air when John wants to pet his head.

"You have dirt all over you," John scolds him, but Joe just wiggles away when John tries to pick out a candy wrap from his fur.

"I should give you a bath," he says, and Joe looks at him with such an insulted face as if he understood, and he barks sharply.

"Shh, don't wake up the whole neighborhood!" John says, reaching for the garden hose. Joe scoots away, looking suspiciously at the hose but his curiosity wins and eventually comes closer to sniff it.

John then grabs his neck, holding him between his knees, scrubbing him under the water ray, and Joe screams as John tries to clean the candy and dirt stuck into the fur.

"Shhh, we gotta get you clean, you'll get parasites," he says, but Joe doesn't stop screaming until John more or less has cleaned out his fur, both of them getting soaked.

Joe looks like a thin, wet dog, looking extremely indignant before shaking himself, getting sticky water and mud drops and fox hair all over John's favourite pajamas, and his fur gets all fluffy and round, and John can't help but laugh at the sight.

But Joe doesn't like to be clean, and he runs away to roll in the grass, then pee on the root of John's favourite yellow rose bush, opening his mouth wide and hissing at John as John snaps at him. Joe runs away into the mini forest behind John's house but not before leaving a huge pile of poop in the middle of the pansies.

A fox's way of saying _screw you._

John gapes at the destruction, his pajamas dripping, and to add insult to injury, he hears someone clearing her throat behind him, and he turns to see his wife's eyes shooting flashes of lightning.

"Care to explain what's going on?"

Dang. He's in big trouble.

Joe doesn't come back for a few weeks, but John knows he's somewhere around because the food always disappears and there's fox poop occasionally in the garden, at which he rolls his eyes - Joe is a moody fox, and this is his punishment. Not that he minds that much - Ronnie gave him the cold shoulder, rightfully worried about the grandkids' health, but John knows Joe is not carrying any disease.

Maybe Joe knows he got John in trouble. Of course, it's a silly assumption, but John likes to think of Joe as his friend. He misses their little banters and he misses petting him, but Joe belongs in the wild.

But one day Joe comes back, standing at the end of the backyard and wagging his tail while John is gardening, and John looks around to check if anyone's near. Joe laughs at him, and John slowly approaches him and pets his head, feeling the soft fur again, scratching the pointy black ears.

"There you are," John says, and Joe yips, and there's movement at John's feet and he looks down to see four little furballs swarming around his shoes, sniffing him, rolling around and playing with each other. "You have kits now? And you brought them here to show me?"

Joe barks, looking at him very proudly, and John's heart melts. 

"Look at the tiny foxes! And the big one!" 

He turns around to see his son Robert standing there with his children, and the kids squeal at the sight, Robert barely able to hold them back. "Don't go too close to them!"

John looks at his son, who's winking at him.

"How come they're not afraid of you?"

"I was feeding the dad for a while," John says, watching Joe gathering his kits and shepherding them back into the bushes, the white of his tail wiggling gently among the green.

"You better not be feeding them anymore," Ronnie says behind him, hugging her husband, and John pats her hand.

"Not anymore." John looks longingly after the fox family, but he's sure they will visit again eventually.

"Let's love them from a distance," Ronnie says, and John nods, reaching for his phone to show the photos of Joe to his grandkids, who are still talking excitedly about the fox family.


End file.
